


Glow

by wigglebox



Series: Post-Season 15 Supernatural Fics / pre-finale [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Held Down, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage, Quiet Sex, Teasing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: How slow can you go?





	Glow

The motel in Silvernails had paper-thin walls and a headboard that bumped the wall time you breathed on it. The place smelled faintly of mothballs and had a maiden-aunt feel to it with doilies on the dresser and bedside table, greens and pinks everywhere, but it still had an old charm. Any other time, Dean may have liked it for its homey feel, if not for the beautiful view of the Taconic Mountains out the back patio. 

But now -- 

“We can’t. Absolutely not.”

Dean stood in the middle of their shoebox of a room, the bathroom vent fan sucking up the shower steam behind him. The white noise gave him some cover to speak louder. 

Sam went to bed early that night, his bed parked right on the other side of their shared wall. 

“Thought you were more adventurous than that,” Cas said, flipping through the channels on the T.V., trying to find one with no static. 

It wasn’t a question of adventure or risk, but instead of just how much humiliation Dean could take.

The discussion stretched over an hour prior to their current stance in hushed voices, Dean very much wanting to accommodate but not wanting to even breathe on the bed if it meant Sam scolding them in _that voice_ to ease up when he’s around. He didn’t feel like getting lectured by his younger brother at his age. 

“We’d hardly be able to move without that thing hitting the wall,” Dean said, pointing at the wooden headboard, “So unless we can move it away --”

“We can’t,” Cas leaned over and lifted up the bed skirt, “It’s bolted to the floor.” 

“Well, then I guess you’re just gonna have to go without tonight unless you’ll settle for something else.” Any other night, yes -- he would be on his back with a headboard possibly banging against the wall, disturbing maybe a mouse or another guest. But, he couldn’t guarantee he’d be quiet or still enough to not give away the game. 

Cas shrugged and went back to flipping through channels, finally stopping on a spaghetti western with a slight fuzz to the picture. 

Dean frowned, hoping Cas _would_ actually settle for something else. There was enough room in the bathroom, accompanied by the white noise machine that was the fan, for him to get on his knees. The sound could give them some cover. They could even run the water to drown the sounds out even more.

They were still in their physical exploration phase and there wasn’t a night that had gone by so far where someone wasn’t on top or against another, accompanied by frenzied movements or choked off cries. Dean felt like he was back in his twenties, and didn’t want to break that streak just because Cas didn’t want a blow-job.

“So, that’s it? Nothing else?” he asked after a minute of silence between them, the western moving onto the gunfight portion of the programming and filling the room up with soft popping noises and horses braying.

“Nothing else,” Cas confirmed. He kept his eyes off Dean as he slid off the bed, made his way for his bag on the stuffy armchair in the corner. 

Dean turned and shut the bathroom light and fan off, ignoring the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor as he threw the towel onto the floor by his side of the bed.

The room turned dark in an instant, the blue glow from the television and the dull orange light from a parking lot mixing together. Dean kept his back to Cas as he climbed into bed, trying not to wobble the headboard too much.

If he looked, he’d be tempted. Not like it would do any good anyway once Cas slipped under the covers as well. The hardly slept an inch apart and they learned early on that clothes were an unneeded barrier. 

The mattress eventually dipped, the sheets and comforter moving as Cas settled in. The blue glow vanished, along with the sounds of cheering from Hollywood cowboys. Dean’s eyes stared ahead to the wall just a few feet away as his eyes adjusted to the only remaining light source.

He waited for the warmth to press against his back, the breath against his neck and the arm over his waist -- but after a minute, nothing happened. 

Frustration beginning to grow, Dean turned over just enough to look at Cas laying on his back, eyes closed. 

“You’re staying over there? Really?” Dean whispered, voice sounding like a shout in the stillness of the room. 

Cas nodded slowly, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Why? Because I don’t want to traumatize Sam with the sound of his brother getting railed?” 

Opening his eyes, Cas turned his head in Dean’s direction.

“We’ve been working off mouths and hands for a week, and I know you want more. I do too,” he smiled in the dim glow of the outside light, “It’s a challenge. How slow can we go?”

Dean took a deep breath as he moved back onto his side, feeling warmth starting to spread from his toes to his cheeks. Cas was goading him into it just to get his way, but he was also right. Dean did want more than what they’ve been doing for the previous few days, too busy or exhausted to do much else. 

Dean did miss it.

The horny twenty-something in him wanted it. 

Turning onto his back, careful not to jostle the headboard, Dean closed the distance between them, their shoulders touching as he stared at the ceiling along with Cas. 

“If we get in trouble, you’re gonna be working off your own hand for another week,” Dean threatened. It was a weak threat though: they both knew it wouldn’t happen. Dean couldn’t go a week without, and neither could Cas. They were making up for lost time over the last decade.

Cas turned over, propping himself up on his forearm, using his other hand to guide Dean’s face over for a long, deep kiss. That lit the match. They stayed there just long enough for a pool of eagerness to swirl.

Breaking free, Cas lifted himself up fully, going slow and easy as he eventually grabbed the headboard to steady it. 

“Move down a little,” Cas whispered.

Dean frowned.

“You won’t be able to hold the thing any farther down.”

“I don’t plan on holding it at all. Just come down another inch or two so you’re not right up against it.”

Dean did as he was told, holding back his worry. He pushed the pillow back where it belonged, laying flat on his back in the middle of the bed as Cas let go of the board, moving seamlessly from the top of the bed also down the middle. The settled between Dean’s slightly parted legs, pushing the covers to the end of the bed. 

They were _never_ going to pull this off. 

_No, _you_ won’t be able to pull it off_, Dean corrected himself.

Before another thought did a drive-by in Dean’s mind, Cas positioned himself properly with Dean’s legs bent on either side of him and leaned down. Dean moved his arms around, one hand resting on Cas’s back, another on the back of his head, guiding him into a slow and easy kiss. Not as deep as before, but enough to keep the pool swirling with curiosity.

It set the speed, languid and thorough. Slow and steady didn’t happen all the time, but Dean did love it when it came around, able to get right to the edge just from laying around, doing nothing more than kissing. Cas took pride in that.

Eventually, after a minute of allowing the mood to settle, Cas pressed himself more against Dean, starting to finally move. Dean paused, as Cas moved down to his neck, clearly not on board with stopping. 

Dean waited to hear the wood against drywall, a scrape or a bump giving away their intentions.

Nothing. 

Cas’s movements were meticulous, one total fluid motion against Dean. 

Dean exhaled as he brought himself back to the present -- worry subsiding. There were no spikes of pleasure as skin brushed against skin, instead replaced by tendrils of need and longing, lacing their way up and down Dean’s body, finally connecting with his brain and bringing him fully into the moment.

The match lit the gunpowder inside him.

He managed to catch the moan that almost escaped from his throat as he worked his hips against Cas’s, the friction created at an almost delicate pace as they moved slow enough to barely rock the bed. It was restrained, intentional, and causing Dean’s breath to speed up. 

Cas eventually moved back up to Dean’s mouth, just in time to prevent another soft cry as he shifted his hips slightly. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking but the hyper-controlled pace drew everything out, creating an extra sensitivity that Dean realized very quickly he liked and needed more of, please and thank _you_.

A minute or two more, and Dean would have come without anything else. But, Cas had other plans. 

Before Dean could protest, he felt the weight lift off him as Cas departed the bed in one, quick motion. 

Dean wanted to voice his frustration as he often when they forgot to bring the lube over to the bed. Disruption was the biggest tease, and Dean hated wasting time.

It took him a moment to realize his hips were still moving despite there not being nothing to work against. Cas turned back from his bag with the small bottle in his hand, and stook there watching Dean move against the mattress. A smirk grew on his face, and Dean could see it in the dim light. He threw up a middle finger, slowing his hips down. 

Before Cas climbed back onto the mattress, he pulled the rest of the sheets and bedspread onto the floor. Dean lifted himself onto his forearms, noticing he already felt a slight tremble running through him.

“Why?” he breathed as Cas sat upright between his legs again, popping the cap on the tube. 

“In case we need to move things to the floor.”

A shiver ran through Dean’s body at those words, spoken low and husky like it was more of a promise than a precaution. He moved willingly as Cas gently nudged his legs further apart. 

“What are you gonna do to me?” Dean’s voice barely registered over the sound of blood rushing through his ears, adrenaline beginning to wake inside him. 

Cas caught Dean’s gaze and smiled, popping the cap on the bottle. 

“Place your bet,” He whispered, ignoring the question. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, studying Cas’s face. 

“Twice. Maybe — if you’re lucky. I’m pretty tired.” He faked yawned to punctuate his point.

Cas nodded to himself, accepting the odds, “Turn over.” The order sounded strange in such a quiet voice. Dean frowned. 

“That’s cheating. Too easy.”

“Just turn over.”

Dean obeyed and turned over with great care, paying attention to his speed as he kept an eye on the headboard. It wobbled a little, a small threat to keep their composure, or else. 

Positioning himself took more time than usual. _Everything_ was taking too much _time_. The fire beginning to burn inside Dean moved to his skin, warming it to high sensitivity. 

He needed _something_. They would have been well on their way to the finish line by now if it were any other unceremonious night.

Cas, unsatisfied with how Dean set things up, pressed on his inner thighs to spread wider, pulling his hips up higher from the mattress and causing muscles to whine at the slight stretch. He pressed his forehead into the sheet below him. Dean presented himself, open and willing.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath into the sheet as two fingers made their way inside without stopping. Not one finger -- Cas flew right off the bat with two. Some slight discomfort accompanied the motion, Dean too tight and not given any warning, but even the sting blossomed into bliss in milliseconds

They both held steady for a moment, allowing Dean to relax against the sudden intrusion.

It took another minute of slow breathing before Dean pushed back and squeezed around the fingers. The movement was small but gave the go-ahead signal. 

Dean smiled when he heard a shaky breath behind him, happy that he wasn’t the only one affected. Out of the two of them, it was harder for Cas to completely lose composure when he got in the groove like this, but sometimes, Dean could see through the cracks. 

This part didn’t need to match their previous pace, the movements not propelling Dean forward, therefore not needing to worry about the headboard -- but Cas, seemingly committed, took his damn time. He already knew where to go, having plenty of practice, but decided to purposefully avoid his destination as he began to move his hand. 

Dean exhaled sharp and hot against the bed, warming the fabric. 

“If you don’t get on with it I’m gonna make you sleep on the floor,” Dean threatened, sounding just as weak as before. He didn’t turn around to see Cas’s reaction but his threat seemed to do the trick as Cas adjusted his entry point.

Finally, Cas dragged his fingers against Dean’s prostate, causing Dean to almost buckle. He brought his hand against his mouth, and muffled the groan, killing it before it could crawl out.

Cas did it again, rubbing harder, and Dean’s noises morphed into strangled gasps, too quiet to be heard unless you were next to him. Cas didn’t linger over the sparking nerves, causing mounting frustration in Dean. It was a snail’s pace, dragged out, elongating the buzz humming through Dean’s body. He’d be there forever, Dean thought, laying face down on a mattress with his ass up in the air like some truck stop hooker, forever waiting for -- 

Cas braced the rest of his fingers against Dean’s perineum, hand staying put but fingers moving in tight, precise circles. Unable to help himself, Dean’s hips tilted further up, trying to get _more_, whatever that _more _was he didn’t know but he needed it. The fire reached the ends of the nerves all over his body, and every circular movement stretched the rubberband inside him further, waiting to snap.

As soon as the pressure started, it stopped, going back to gentle brush overs as Cas’s other fingers moved against the skin they rested on, adding more pleasure to billow through Dean. 

He wanted, _needed_ to curse, let out some kind of sound but he sucked his lip into his mouth and kept his forehead against his hands on the mattress. A weird form of dizziness descended over him over the lack of consistent air, oxygen flow compromised by needing to take shorter breaths to hold back every noise he wanted to release. 

“Don’t move,” Cas instructed, his low voice barely discernible over the pounding of Dean’s heart. 

Dean wondered if this was how older men wound up having heart attacks during sex. 

Dean couldn’t respond vocally, only nod his head against the sheet, the fabric sliding against his hear providing a foreign noise to counter his strangled breathing.

Cas withdrew almost completely, adjusted his hand, and Dean drew in one large breath to abate vertigo, knowing what was about to happen --

It was gonna be a rough go trying to stay still. 

For the first time that night, the pace quickened to normalcy. Dean balled his fists into the fitted sheet and pressed his face back into the mattress, feeling as if a vice grip had him around the lungs. Over and over, fast enough for the pool inside Dean to begin building its tidal wave. His muscles tensed. Dean felt Cas press his other hand against the small of his back, ready to stay any movement about to fire off. Dean switched over to auto-pilot.

Both of Cas’s hands pressed down, one keeping Dean as still as possible, and one tightening the rubberband with each and every pass over his prostate. Rapid-fire, pressing firmly, pausing occasionally to return back to the small, tight circles, giving Dean a moment to catch what little breath he had left. Dean tried moving his pelvis as much as he could, needing to expend the building energy somehow. The hand against his back was firm though and his angle made it hard to do much. His legs began to shake. 

Dean had no idea if his volume increased or not -- could hardly hear anything over his own ragged breath. 

Someone, one of them, or maybe some disembodied voice in the room watching, kept repeating _fuck, fuck, fuck_ in a hoarse whisper like it was going to save Dean somehow. But he was utterly gone, waves rushing through his body but refusing to crash. They merged into the forming tidal wave, ready to utterly decimate Dean. He wanted to move so _bad_, to cry, to shout something or at least to moan but knew if he did, Cas would stop, and stopping wasn’t an option now. 

The shaking got worse as Dean realized he was holding his breath, too scared to open his mouth for fear he’d wake up the entire motel complex.

“Breathe,” Cas’s quiet but stern voice floated down to him and slowed down again, allowing Dean another moment to catch his breath. 

Dean almost threw back a retort -- how hard it was to breathe when your body and brain were shutting down section by section. Instead, he just lifted himself up on his forearms, trying to even his back out. Cas mercifully stopped altogether, taking his hand off Dean’s lower back. The hand inside him withdrew until the only the tips of Cas’s’ fingers stayed, ready to deploy again on Captain’s orders. 

Skin on fire, muscles trembling, and feeling like he already ran a marathon, Dean lowered his head again and tilted his hips back up, a sign to keep going. A sharp inhale from behind him came out just as shaky as Dean felt, and he smirked. 

They went from zero to a hundred in half a second as Cas resumed and the smirk instantly wiped itself clean from Dean’s face. He collapsed a little more, arms now unwilling to hold any of his weight. The wave still waited to crash down on him. Hips began to move again, trying to meet the moving hand every time it dared to even _think_ about leaving. 

The rubberband in him pulled taught -- the tightest it’s been in a while. He needed it to snap, the wave to spill, he _needed_ something as his brain screamed at him to _move you fucking idiot, move --_

Dean, feeling delirium settling in, went to lower himself completely onto the mattress, eager for some friction against his cock when the free hand came out and grabbed him, fingers digging into the crease where thigh met hip. 

A whine of protest slipped from him, not caring enough to stop it now. He was almost there, the speed increasing -- 

The hand holding him back moved again, a palm pressing down on the mattress beside Dean. Cas leaned down, Dean feeling the angle inside him shift again. A hot puff of air on his ear announced Cas’s arrival. Dean held his breath again.

“One.”

The word reverberated through Dean’s brain, loud despite its whispered delivery, as the dam finally broke. 

This time he knew who kept chanting nonsensical words under their breath as the wave took its time to crash down. Cas allowed Dean’s to move a little, almost like Dean was riding an invisible dick the air. It was automatic, auto-piloted -- something Dean had no bodily control over anymore like someone had invisible hands on him and moved his hips for him. 

Dean hit the limit all at once, and jerked his hips forward, out of Cas’s reach, leaving the fingers and everything else behind. He felt, rather than saw, Cas move quick, and heard hands hit wood, holding the headboard in place as Dean all but collapsed into the mattress, hips still moving on their own, rubbing against the rough motel sheets then back up, looking for more. 

Mark one for Cas, skilled enough to finesse a dry orgasm, ensuring him another one soon after. The sheet below Dean remained clean.

They settled into stillness.

As Dean’s breathing slowed, he could hear Cas’s ragged breathing next to him. He turned his head, laying on his arm, finally getting a good look at the man.

Even in the darkness, Dean could tell Cas was flushed with self-control. He sat on his heels which only highlighted how hard he’d gotten in the minutes he took to net him his first win. 

Dean smiled. It was a good sight. 

“That _was_ cheating. You really need to go for three,” Dean mumbled into his arm, limbs feeling heavy but the electricity still crackling inside -- waiting for another round.

Cas inhaled deep, and exhaled sharp and loud before moving without another word. 

Dean laid there, still as can be as Cas set up shop behind him, spreading his legs out more as they laid limp against the mattress. Minimal movements.

Dean heard a sigh as hands spread him to inspect their handiwork.

“I’m fine -- go.” Dean whispered, demanded out of impatience. The need to come properly began building again. 

Instead of a playful smack on his backside like usual whenever Dean decided to get a little mouthy, he felt a slight pinch on his ass.

No loud noises after all. 

Dean felt the mattress dip on his left side as a hand worked to stabilize Cas. Dean concentrated on his breath this time, trying to calm his nerves down enough as not to finish before it could get started. 

But the teasing wasn’t done. 

Cas slid in slow, _agonizingly_ slow, making Dean wait and wait and _wait --_

The fullness inside felt far better than the fingers and caused a small, contented whine to escape Dean. It was quiet enough.

Cas parked himself for a moment, Dean imagining the need to stay slow to keep calm, otherwise, Cas would lose the bet. 

Dean smiled to himself and circled his hips a small amount, barely enough to make a big difference, but enough to close his eyes and enjoy the feeling, also trying to throw Cas off his game.

But, Cas had other plans as he withdrew just as slowly as he came in, pulling all the way back out. Dean tried chasing him, angling himself to get as high as he could without moving his whole body off the mattress, but Cas slipped out of reach. 

“What the _fuck_,” Dean breathed into the sheets, starting to squirm. 

The other hand came down on his right side, the dips equal distance away from him, as he felt Cas move back, but not in this time, instead sliding easily past entry, up and over. Back, and forth, back and forth again, catching on already swollen flesh that Cas caused already. 

Dean swallowed his groans of frustration. How slow could they go, _indeed_. He felt the rubberband starting to pull again. 

Cas stopped mid-motion, cock resting just north of where Dean really needed it to be. 

Wasting no time, Dean tried catching him with his own movements, pressing back against Cas, trying to get lucky and have him slip in. All it did was tease on behalf of Cas. Dean self-sabotaged himself. 

“If I do the work, you don’t get a point,” Dean turned his head to whisper freely into the air instead of the mattress below him, still moving in millimeter distances to try and catch his target. 

Cas mumbled something back before removing his right hand from the mattress to guide himself back in just as Dean’s impatience began to grow.

Dean smiled as he finally felt the pressure and fullness return, less frantic than before. 

Down, down, down and Cas finally bottomed out, pressing himself against the length of Dean’s back. He draped a leg over Dean’s left one and pressed his right against Dean’s right. Arms encased arms, and Dean felt a hot mouth against his neck only breathing against him. 

Dean waited for Cas to set the tempo, reveling in the bliss of skin on skin, a craving finally met. They both felt on fire, and Dean felt every deep inhale run through his entire body as Cas calmed himself down. 

Time stood still, and they breathed together as one. 

Eventually, Cas started to circle his hips against Dean’s, getting a feel for things. Dean stayed still under him for as long as he could, wanting to just stay and feel for as long as possible. 

The mouth moved from Dean’s neck to his ear as they continued to breathed together, only bolstering the mounting bliss radiating through their bodies. Dean’s skin began to buzz again, calling out for some kind of friction or pressure. 

Sensing the mounting impatience, Cas lifted himself onto his forearms, holding himself steady above Dean, shifting his angle. Dean, no longer pressed into the mattress, pushed back against Cas as a reflex, unable to hold it back anymore.

The speed never increased, staying at the casual, intended pace, watched by the threatening headboard. It was a nuisance but the restraint, the rubberband pulling taught again inside Dean served only to enhance everything.

Every time Dean moved, his cock rubbed against the sheet beneath him, like a teenager having a wet dream. It wasn’t going to take him long at all to get to the finish line this time -- 

“Stop,” an order from above broke through the haze, and Dean immediately obeyed, pausing his hips as they peaked, the tip of his neglected cock brushing against the mattress. 

Cas pushed himself up all the way and slid out for the second time. Dean bit back the audible whine that wanted to escape, about to lower his hips and just work everything out himself. Before Dean could move, Cas went back in, a little faster, withdrew almost all the way, and went back in at a slightly different angle.

One more try did the trick, and stars burst behind Dean’s closed eyes, his breath stolen as the pressure against his prostate came back. There wasn’t much Cas could do in terms of movement around it, but it didn’t matter. All the work from earlier wearing him down enough inside that even the slightest brush by Cas sucked the air out of Dean’s lungs.

Cas lowered himself down against Dean’s back again, sure to keep himself lined up properly. His breathing more ragged now, he kissed Dean’s shoulder before lengthening out fully.

“Breathe,” his voice soothing in Dean’s ear after so much silence. Dean took in a large breath, then out -- matching the motions of Cas, moving so minutely that it was amazing Dean could feel anything at all. Dean kept his eyes closed as he allowed the sounds around him to serve as a guide through the sensations rocking across his body. 

Every slide, every dip, every single damn twitch sent the bolts of pleasure coursing through Dean’s body and the wave began to build again, faster this time. The slow pace, Dean realized, aided him instead of depriving him. Every drag over his prostate seemed to last twice as long, stretching the rubberband taught once more. 

He kept his own rhythm against the bed as well, rocking as little as he could with someone on top of him. It was just enough to assist in the crash that would soon come. 

A small voice piped up in the back of Dean’s head as he felt the wave nearing its peak, that if he didn’t actually come this time, producing another dry orgasm again, Cas would win. 

He continued to move, trying to get enough friction to end it properly rather than be put through another round of hyper-sensitivity and teasing.

“That’s not going to help,” Cas breathed into his ear. Dean could feel the smile.

The crest of the wave approached again, coming up faster this time. The little noises they allowed themselves in close company increased, and Dean took satisfaction in hearing Cas starting to also lose his composure. 

Dean tensed, finally reaching the pinnacle. 

“Two,” Cas whispered, sounding as tense as Dean felt. 

The rubber band snapped inside Dean and he was able to crash down with the wave. Dean tried speeding it up, trying to get to the point of actual completion but kept getting jammed up every time he felt another pass over that sweet spot, over and over and over -- 

He ached, caught in limbo. Cas kept him pinned for a moment, trying to halt the erratic movements before lifting off of him in a half-second, withdrawing completely. Dean couldn’t voice his displeasure as his body worked itself out without Cas’s help, voice dying in his throat. Dean tried to finish it right there and then, turning turned to his side, just enough for him to reach down -- 

Out of nowhere, Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist, pinning it to his back, further limiting his movements. Dean almost sobbed, unable to move. The headboard rocked in his peripheral vision. If Dean could move even just a little bit more, it’d be smacking the wall in rhythm with himself.

After a minute, as Dean came down, he felt his wrist go free. Feeling came back into his body, replacing the high-strung hum and tingling of nerves. He didn’t realize that Cas’s other hand had rested just where the back of his thigh met the curve of his ass, holding him down there as well. 

That’s what saved them. 

Dean couldn’t move, feeling as if fifty-pound weights tied themselves to his body. The mattress depressed between his legs where Cas sat. The sheets below Dean were still dry, and he sighed, resigned to his defeat. It felt too good to care, though he very much needed to get off at some point. 

Cas stayed silent behind him, but Dean could still hear his breathing which almost morphed into a full-on pant, labored and rough. 

Lifting himself up onto his forearms, wincing at the deep ache already beginning to string across his muscles, Dean looked behind him. 

Cas’s head hung as his eyes remained closed, sitting on his heels once more. His hands were balled into fists, resting against his thighs as he focused on just breathing. He hadn’t come either.

“Round three then?” Dean muttered, voice raspy with all the cries that died in his throat. 

Cas shook his head, drawing in a deep breath before opening his eyes and looking straight at Dean’s face, not allowing his gaze to wander to any other part of his body. 

“Get on the floor, I can’t --” Cas cut himself off and swallowed, voice hoarse. He finally arrived at the verge of complete ruin. They both wanted to finally just get off and get off_ fast_. 

Dean grabbed a pillow, and eased himself off the bed, ignoring the screaming protest in his muscles. Cas followed.

The comforter and sheets dumped earlier were straightened out, and Dean wasted no time getting on his back, shoving a pillow under his hips. Cas settled between his legs before Dean could fully situation himself, no had time to take a breath before Cas slid in, faster and easier the third time around. He leaned into Dean, arms hooked around the back of the knees. 

They both had no time to waste anymore, and could finally move without restrictions. They still had to be quiet, but not as much -- they were farther from the wall now. 

The normalcy kicked in, the desperate, quick, flyby fuck when things got to be too much during the day and they refused to act until they got home, building that tension between them to cash in on later.

Cas strung Dean along for just under an hour, and both their nerves worked overtime on trying to keep up. Dean’s skin jumped now with every thrust, limbs heavy and everything beginning to blur into a heavy sex haze. They lost themselves in each other.

Cas’s aim wasn’t spot-on this time, but Dean still felt raw and sensitive. Unhinged, erratic movements from Cas accompanied by small, desperate cries were helping propel them into hard oblivion. Composure melted away, fast. Cas released Dean’s legs, and Dean responded by wrapping them around his waist, propped up from the pillow. Contact. They needed contact. 

Dean didn’t help out with any movement this time, only allowing Cas to do whatever he wanted to get them to that cliff. No more waves. 

Hands worked their way into his hair, pulling gently, teeth graced his jaw, and they worked hot and heavy against each other. Words were said, hushed but not whispered -- words accompanied by noises of affirmations and questioning. 

They approached the edge. Dean braced himself for the launch --

“Three,” Cas managed to say, sounding completely wrecked. 

Dean went over first, the constant winding up over the first two rounds exploding, slamming into him like a ton of bricks. A cry escaped, loud, and Cas covered Dean’s mouth with his own, swallowing any other noise that followed. Dean felt himself finally come, well and true, as his legs shook, hips shooting up from the pillow to try and merge with the ones above him. He tensed for the third time that night, and now it lasted a lifetime. The stars came back, and he lost himself inside his mind for a moment.

Above him, Cas also froze up, moving his mouth off of Dean’s and pressed it against the side of his face, breathing hard as he snapped his hips a few more times, pressing in as far as possible. No loud noises came out of him, only a low, strangled groan that sounded wonderful next to Dean’s ear. 

Cas didn’t move off right away, instead, staying inside, circling and grinding against Dean, just to make sure everything that had to be taken care of, was. It was almost painful, but Dean let him work. 

They remained as close together as possible and exchanged a few kisses before finally pulling apart. Dean felt so weighed down and powerless, he couldn’t even protest when Cas slipped away entirely, sitting back on his heels again, observing the mess of a person in front of him. 

Dean felt utterly debauched and used, loving every minute of it but also wishing he had the energy to get up and go back to sleep on the mattress. 

“You okay?” Cas asked, running a hand down Dean’s inner thigh, watching as Dean squirmed. It was too much. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good I just --,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, running out of energy to even talk, “I can’t move right now. Or probably for the rest of the night.”

Dean opened his eyes in time to see Cas move down between his outstretched legs, situating himself in the perfect position to tilt his head down and run a mouth over Dean’s stomach. A tongue ran itself over the skin, cleaning up. The sight took whatever breath Dean still had away, causing his body to twitch as Cas’s mouth kept working across hypersensitive skin. Slowly working his way up and up and up until he reached Dean’s mouth again. 

“I should get bonus points,” Cas said, breaking away after a minute.

“Why?”

“I made you come without touching you once.”

Dean smiled, feeling the cascade of exhaustion starting to settle over him. 

“You already won, I don’t think you need bonus points.”

“True. Three times, so I get the car for three weeks.” Cas lifted himself up and off of Dean, and moved onto his feet.

“Are you trying to work yourself up to a month?” 

Cas only smirked at that suggestion before turning, walking over to the bed to pick up the extra pillow, dropping it onto Dean, who laughed, stomach muscles sore and achy in all the best ways. In the small closet, Cas pulled out two more blankets and also dropped them to the floor. 

“Why are sleeping down here?” Dean asked, watching Cas set up the makeshift bed.

Cas settled down next to Dean, pressing his body against him like he was supposed to, back into their familiar position.

“In case we wake up and want to go double or nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, hello there!  
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
I have no idea where the idea from this came other than my desire to spite write these two as happy and smutty following 15x03.  
Also, I wanted a small break from writing angst. 
> 
> [casgirlsam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casgirlsam/pseuds/casgirlsam) looked this over and I gave it another pass as well -- but if there are any mistakes or confusing bits that need clarification, kindly let me know! 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3 
> 
> Jen  
Wigglebox on Tumblr/Twitter


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